


Aetas Post

by antevasin



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Ascension To Godhood, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Coping, Gen, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Dominion War (Star Trek), Post-War, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antevasin/pseuds/antevasin
Summary: The war is over, but the people remain changed.Vignettes of how they cope and how they struggle.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	1. Kira Nerys

**Author's Note:**

> With "living through a historical event", I mused about the frequent statements of "we won't go back to normal, we will build a new normal". Here's the post-Dominion war "new normal".
> 
> I am getting increasingly better at actually writing down my ideas. I am also getting increasingly better at procrastinating my work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, she would love to enjoy the peace, but every time she tries, a small voice inside her whispers: _And what if it doesn't last?_

Before she goes to bed, Kira gently blows out the prayer candle. A simple measure of precaution, just in case they are attacked while she is sleeping. Normally the fire suppression systems work, but it's better not to take chances. Her eyes drift towards the door. A pair of shoes is placed right next to it. Her phaser - set on stun - dominates the small bedside table, just within the reach of her hands, far enough from the door for her to reach it quicker than any intruder.

She has instructed the computer to wake her during the night at random hours a few times a week, with a simulated red alert. Of course she knows it's simulated, but better to train fake attacks than to not train at all. She wonders whether the night shift thinks that she does not trust them, or if anyone else questions her nightly appearances at the docking ring. For all its eccentricity, it gives her peace. It is almost laughable, finding peace in artificial disturbance of it.

One day a week, she fasts. While there is a spiritual component to it, she has to admit to herself that she mostly does it to check whether her body is still capable of it. Julian and her regularly meet for springball matches in the holosuites, and while his enhanced hand-eye-coordination and stamina are no match for her, she never gives up easily. She is in as good a shape as ever.

Regardless, she worries about becoming too soft. About adjusting to free replicated food at a spoken order, a comfortably temparated room, an undisturbed night's sleep. Oh, she would love to enjoy the peace, but every time she tries, a small voice inside her whispers: _And what if it doesn't last?_

A few weeks from now, she is going to take a few days off for a camping trip on Bajor, with some old friends from the Resistance. Like the old days, they promised, just without running for survival. Ironic, when you take into account that that was what their lives revolved around. But she is fine with it. At least she will be out in the open. Sleeping under the stars, instead of among them, the wind moving through her hair and singing her to sleep, with no disruptor shots to kill her dreams.

Sometimes, when she walks across the promenade and past the Security office, she glances inside, hoping that Odo would pay her a surprise visit. Of course, that hope is unfounded. Not that Odo said he would never visit, but he would never come unplanned. Still, every evening she hits her Combadge and calls him. She has never gotten a signal, or a reply, which was to be expected. But with her rock of the past seven years gone, some simple things like going to sleep feel insanely more dangerous.

In her office, a baseball prominently thrones on the desk. She asked Jake whether he wanted to have his father's favourite one back, and he took it in exchange for the one they all signed. It now serves as a permanent reminder of what they had, and what they lost. Every time a new officer asks what it is about, she refers them to someone else. Nog can tell the story. Or Ezri. Or really, just anyone but her. The memories are fond, but telling of them hurts, for it makes her realize again and again that not only the story, but the protagonists have been swallowed by the depths of history.


	2. Worf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His gaze moves to the picture of the Deep Space Nine crew. It was taken before the war, and only now that it has ended the difference has become obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3's formatting is weird, so I am posting two chapters at once. That's all that are finished so far, so please bear with me - it will take some time until I update. Anyways, I hope you like it so far! Comments are greatly appreciated :)

He wakes with a pounding head, a tongue dry as dust and the distinct feelig that he is still on a spinning space station, instead of in an embassy on a much more slowly spinning planet. The smell of blood wine hangs in the room. He groans as he tries to sit up. _A little too much, yet again._ Martok's excellent collection is worth its praise, but does not lend itself well to being consumed in huge quantities.

He observes his private quarters. After having lived in space for so long, the darkness of the room is a new experience for him. The Enterprise was always bright, too bright sometimes, and although the Defiant has been more to his taste it is still a Federation starship, adapted mostly for human needs. On Q'onoS, the buildings are dark, even those built by the same Federation that uses luxury cruisers as flagships.

He sighs as his eyes wander across the walls and stop at the holographic photos next to his desk. They are the same ones that he also keeps in his office, the people whom he cares about and wants to remember. His adoptive parents, him and his brother as children between them, almost as tall as the humans despite being younger than a teenager. The Enterprise crew, including Spot, whom Data insisted to be on the picture. The cat looks disappointed at being held in the android's arms. That sentiment is understandable. The position does not convey the courage and aggression that the feral feline possesses.

There is a picture of his son on board a Klingon Bird of Prey, proudly serving as a soldier of the Empire. He is glad that they have met again, and that he accepted his apology. He still does not consider himself ready to be a father. He never was, and perhaps he will never be. Perhaps that is just one thing he is not meant for.

His gaze moves to the picture of the Deep Space Nine crew. It was taken before the war, and only now that it has ended the difference has become obvious. On the holo-image, their uniforms are brightly coloured, and most of them look happy. Then-Major Kira seems uncomfortable at standing right next to the man she considers her Emissary. Doctor Bashir looks excited like an Academy student being awarded a prize. Odo is stiff as always, Chief O'Brien smiles awkwardly. Sisko gazes down on them with fatherly pride. Jadzia just beams.

Right next to the crew images, she is laughing at him, her happiness radiating even through time and space. His own image right next to hers looks less enthralled, but only he knows that the impression serves a lie. That day had been one of, if not the most happy days of his life. Her dress matches his suit, and she looks like she just emerged from a tale of the brave Klingon warriors of old times. Sometimes Worf is surprised about himself when he actively remembers she was Trill, not Klingon. To him, she was as much a daughter of Kahless as he was a son.

He wishes he had another bottle, as once again the hole left inside him from her absence threatens to swallow him. So much has changed - Jadzia is gone, Ezri is still on the station, Kira now runs the place, Odo returned to the Founders. Sisko has disappeared, the O'Briens have moved back to Earth. The war is over. Sometimes he wonders what they will write about it in history books. Will the chapter on the Dominion war end with how everything went back to normal, or will it be told of as the beginning of a new era, with nothing as it used to be?

The rational part of his mind reminds him that an ambassador should at least try to not be drunk when coming to work, even on Q'onoS. He discards the idea and carries himself over to the desk instead. Perhaps there is something to keep his mind off.

When he activates his computer console, it displays a request from Martok to go targ hunting together, a few inquiries from Federation citizens running into trouble on the Klingon homeworld and looking for guidance, and a message from Deanna. He opens the latter. She is asking how he is doing and whether he is free for a call later. He sends a reply, confirming the time. By Klingon standards, the need for therapy shows that one lacks the courage to face their fears alone. But talking to a friend - and even Martok agrees with this - is certainly an honourable way of coping, even if she happens to be a trained counselor.


	3. Jake Sisko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the lights are bright and the station is buzzing with the business and activity of the artificial day, people connect through their joined efforts to rebuild and move on. But when the lights are dimmed and all sounds muffled, they lament together what they lost and may never find again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted anything in a long time, and I'm sorry for that. I had a few incredibly busy weeks and no time to write. I'm trying to get back into it, but here's a chapter I actually finished a few weeks ago and just now came along to edit. It's short, but better than nothing (well, all chapters in this fic are short, so...). Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Comments are appreciated :)

Everyone thinks he doesn't notice. But of course he does. He is a writer. He notices how some of the Bajorans look at him, the son of the Emissary who now lives with the Prophets, an even stranger role than just being the son of the Emissary. He notices how non-Bajoran parents throw him looks of pity. To them, he is just a boy who lost his father in the war, like far too many of them.

Everywhere he goes, he carries a Padd, takes notes on how the station's inhabitants and visitors act, how their day-to-day life slowly converges back towards pre-war times. Yet he is hyperaware they will never reach that old normal. Times have changed, as pathetic as the phrase sounds, and they can never turn back. Structures have shifted. Many of the people he grew used to seeing every day are gone now, some more, some less noticeable. Kira now looms over the desk his father used to inhabit, and although he likes her, the view makes him wince internally every time. There's still a baseball on her desk, but it's not his father's - that one rests on his bedside table, next to a holoimage of his parents with him as an infant. Sometimes, when he needs to think, he kneads and throws it like his father used to do. It helps him with writing, too.

He has started working on his newest book, under the working title Paradise Lost: The Dominion War through the Eyes of Witnesses. So far, it would more correctly have to be labelled The Dominion War through the Eyes of Nog. Sure, some of the station's senior officers - even the Colonel - have offered or even already provided some contributions, but a lot of it is what Nog tells him. The chapter about the battle for AR-558 seems to become the longest. In a way, he thinks, this is fitting. In historical accounts of the war, it will never be more than a footnote, perhaps a case study for students, but every time his best friend speaks of it he feels the pain cut right through his heart. That's what it was like to the people who were there, and that's what he wants the galaxy to know.

When he has nothing to do, he commutes between the Promenade - the best place to observe people -, the holosuites and his quarters. Kasidy is grateful to have him back with her, and makes a big deal out of praising his cooking skills every time he whips up one of his father's dishes for her. Almost every week, his grandpa joins them for a subspace call and they eat together. Those are the times when he almost believes that his father is still there with them, in a way. Sometimes he dreams of being visited by him, when he is older, sometimes much older. He doesn't speak much about those dreams, except with Ezri.

At first, he all but rejected the idea of being forced into counselling. Only about a month later he actually looks forward to the biweekly sessions. He would never fully understand the Trill, but where Curzon had been like a crazy great-uncle taking his father on weird adventures and Jadzia like a mischievous aunt lobbying in his favour until his father reluctantly agreed to let him on a date or gambling, Ezri has become like an older sister that he can share stories about his father with. It feels less like therapy and more like getting lost in good memories, and if he gets a medical note for that, he's not going to complain.

He spends a lot of time with Nog, almost every hour that his friend isn't on duty. Sometimes Jake even gets to help out with station maintenance, and no matter how much Nog jokingly complains that he is anything but an engineer, he enjoys it. During the day, they play sports in the holosuites - with generous approval from Doctor Bashir, who claims that it is "absolutely necessary" for Nog to get used to his new leg. In the evening, they walk around the station, get a drink at Quark's or try their luck at Dabo. At night, they sit together, sometimes for hours, and talk. More often than not, they cry. It's a pattern he has noticed in a lot of people: When the lights are bright and the station is buzzing with the business and activity of the artificial day, people connect through their joined efforts to rebuild and move on. But when the lights are dimmed and all sounds muffled, they lament together what they lost and may never find again.


End file.
